Fuscia Sequins
by dirao
Summary: After Logan proposes, Rory runs. The reason is hidden beneath the long sleeves of her horridly fuscia, sequined gown. Who better to teach her about leaving than Jess Mariano, Dodger incarnate? Rated M for possibilities. Chapter 3 is up - GRADUATION!
1. Intro

**Title: ** Fuscia Sequins

**Category:** Lit/Squished somewhere in there in Season 7.

**Premise:** Logan proposed to Rory at her Grandparents' party, a week and a half before graduation. She did what any good Gilmore Girl would do: she ran. Logan lovers beware.

**Author's note:** Fully aware that I should be updating two other stories, but some things just jump into my head, unbidden. This will be a sort of multiparter.

**Disclaimer:** I live in a country where you can't even get Pop Tarts. So sue me. I dare you.

**Fuscia Sequins, or How to Leave**

Jess had learned early in life that a woman in long sleeves on a hot summer day could only mean trouble. Liz had taught him few things; this was one of them. Some boyfriends meant sweaters all-year-round.

But when the first girl he's ever loved walks into his empty bookstore in a long-sleeved, sequined, fuscia gown, in the middle of June, with mascara streaming down her cheeks, Jess knows he's the one in trouble.

He sighs. Without a word, he walks over to the door and locks it, so the bookstore will stay empty.

He has known this was happening, or at least, he's suspected something was wrong They've kept talking after Philadelphia, after everything, and she's been dwindling, transforming. There's only so much one can envision from phone conversations. Of course, there've been details. Unignoreable details.

Rory Gilmore had started to grow silent.

And Jess had guessed it was because Logan had started to grow louder and louder, until everything around her broke.

But Rory couldn't say no to Logan. She'd always had trouble with that one little word. Except when she was with Jess.

She had learned, because he had taught her, that saying no to the man you love would only bring pain. It had been his own damn fault, because he'd never explained, he'd never set it right. No matter how hard he wrote, how his pencil burrowed through the pages, how many times The Subsect had gone into print, he'd never gotten it right. She still thought that, somehow, she'd pushed him away. And so now, she is a yes girl.

And she shivers.

She shivers in the summer.

She's a week away from graduating, Jess knows that much. At least she'd gone back to Yale. But Jess has the darkest suspicion that she'd gone back because she couldn't say no.

"I was at my grandparents," she starts, rubbing her left arm furiously. "They were having this party for my graduation. They sang."

Jess nods. "The dress..."

"Only thing I could find that didn't show... you know."

He nods again, dumbfounded. "Why are you here?" he asks.

"He proposed, Jess," she says, and her voice breaks. She wipes her eyes on the back of her sleeve. "I said to myself, I'll wait it out, you know, he leaves soon, I'll go work somewhere else, it will be over. But he wants forever." Rory shakes her head. "I can't do this forever."

"Rory, you don't have to-"

But she's sobbing now, holding her stomach. Everything inside her is breaking and all he can do is stand two feet away and watch.

"How do I leave him? I don't know how to leave him. I've never left anyone," she says, her words clouded by tears and hiccups. "How do you leave?" she asks, and it hangs there, the perfect question.

He approaches and touches the one part of her that looks safe, his hands closing around her elbow. "You just... go."

"I can't stay with him... he's killing me..." she sobs. And suddenly, with absolutely no warning, her sequined sleeves surround his waist and she starts to ruin a perfectly clean shirt.

She is all tears and snot and she is breaking in his arms.

Jess smoothes her hair and ignores the prickle of the sequins. "Do you want me to help?"

"Please," she whispers. "Please please please please please please..."

She keeps repeating it over and over and over, until Jess is sure she's all emptied out.

Then, and only then, does he say the first helpful thing of the night.

"I think the first thing we have to do is get you out of that hideous dress."

- - - - - - - - - -

It's one of those dresses that requires a chambermaid to put on and take off. He helps her with the clasp at the base of her nape, the zipper that starts right there and endes when her back does. It's a ghastly revelation, dark bruises under the cheerfully ugly color.

"Thank you," she whispers, peeling off the rest of the dress. Her arms have yellow bruises healing, purple bruises appearing on top. She has no shame anymore, and the dress becomes a heap at her feet. Purple marks show where his fingers have burned into her skin, between her thighs.

In an attempt to grant her modesty he turns around. She isn't wearing anything but panties, and even those seem wrong on her, a satiny brown pair that look like something Logan had picked out for her.

Without a word, she takes those off too.

She mistakes his attempt at being a gentleman for disgust, and she dresses as quickly as she can in his borrowed tshirt and sweatpants.

"You can turn around now," she says.

His clothes look like they could swallow her whole, but at least they seem more domesticated than the dress. The dress was definitely a carnivore.

"I'm sorry," she says. And then, with hardly any voice left in her, she whispers. "I have no one else."

- - - - - - - - - -

The bed is wide enough to fit them both with no chance or need of touching one another. But Jess knows better than that.

He knows about leaving, and about the things people do when they are on the run.

He gives her a glass of water and two ibuprofen, for the pain. He brushes her hair out of her eyes.

He tucks her in.

"I used to be better than this," she says, softly, repproaching herself.

He shushes her but she starts blubbering new apologies that he can't quite figure out. "I'm disgusting," he catches between one word or another, and he shakes his head, but her eyes are already closed and when her eyes are closed he can't show her what he thinks. He thinks she is stronger than she knows. He thinks she already did the hard part.

But those are the kinds of things he cannot say. So he says what he can. "Where's the ring?" he asks.

"In my purse," she answers. A predator purse, the same dead fuscia as the dress.

"I'm going to throw it away."

"Thank you," she says. More apologies.

Her eyes used to be a different sort of blue, he thinks.

Not that it matters.

She falls asleep soon enough.

- - - - - - - - - - -

He throws the ring down the drain, lets the water run full blast, throws a little Drano into the mix, more water. He's certain the damn thing is already in the sewage system, but he leaves the water running for good measure. It was a real diamond too, and if this had been a different situation he would have told her to sell it. This time? Good riddance.

He sits on his reading couch and watches her sleep.

She's finally asked something of him that he can do. He can teach her how to leave, how to disappear.

But he has to be careful.

If he isn't, he'll be just like she was. He'll be the one left behind.

- - - - - - - - - - -

She wakes up screaming. It's scary, because now that he realizes it, she never washed her face and her makeup is still in shambles. He finds a washcloth he never knew he had and wipes off some of the gunk she's been hiding behind. She mumbles in her sleep; full, incoherent sentences in some foreign language he didn't know she spoke. Is it Spanish? Is it Portuguese? He wants to ask her if she learned it in school.

He listens to the music of her voice, weaving fairy tales or horror films as she falls back to sleep.

- - - - - - - - - -

The morning comes too soon and with it does regret.

She's fishing around the sink for the ring when he wakes up and the one advantage he has is that the door is locked with a key that he's had in his pockets all night long.

Otherwise she'd be long gone.

Lesson one about leaving: You don't look back.

Except that's not true. But at least you try to get your determination underfoot.

She leaves the coathanger alone, drops it into the sink, and drops her thin frame down on his kitchen chair. He only has one kitchen chair. But he also has an orange cart that he fell in love with at the market one day, and it works as a chair, so he sits beside her and waits until she says something.

She says nothing, but her stomach grumbles and that's enough for him.

- - - - - - - - - -

Rory picks at her food.

She pushes the eggs around the plate with her fork and completely ignores the toast.

This annoys Jess to no end. "Eat," he says, and he thinks it sounds like an order and so she starts eating. He stops her fork halfway up to her mouth and it startles her, and she closes her eyes. "Eat because you're hungry, not because I said so," he adds.

She nods, slowly. She takes a bite. She opens her eyes.

And he realizes that the brief second before she closed his eyes, when his hand was flying up to her face to stop the fork, she was afraid of him.

- - - - - - - - - - -

He suggests she call her mother but she shakes her head. There are hundreds of missed calls on her phone and then the battery dies.

He does the one thing he can do, which is to call Luke.

Grunts are exchanged. They have little to say, because they both know. No one is blind. Everyone just pretended to be. Luke threatens to kill Logan if he drops by. Jess curses over the phone. Luke says they'll be right there, Jess tells him not to come.

She needs space. That's rule number two of leaving: always conserve your space.

- - - - - - - - - - -

On her second day she doesn't need the ibuprofen anymore and some of the bruises are blending into her skin, but it's going to take a while. Her skin is so white, so easily hurt.

She starts to write letters, but never gets past the first line. From sunup to sundown, she can't find a way to address the bastard.

Offhandedly, she offers a bit of the past. "When I was in Washington I spent days trying to write you a letter."

"This is different," he says, almost offended. He grits his teeth because she knows what's coming.

"I loved you. I loved Logan."

He shakes his head and takes the paper and pen from her hand, a move so violent she backs away from him and shields her face.

He's too angry to apologize and he realizes that he's turning into an ogre, which is a new low for him, but he'll take it today. He writes a note, furiously, fast. He drops the pen and takes the crumpled note over to Rory. He kneels down until their eyes are level and he makes the kind of promise he knows he can keep. "I will never be him."

She nods, softly at first, then with full force, because she wants to reassure him that she knows. Gut reactions are just that, and she has to learn to trust again.

He hands her the note and kisses her forehead.

He has always lived in silence and she's just unlearning silence, so they speak little or not at all.

The note reads like every thought that's running through her mind.

It says: "Go fish your ring out of your shit, dick. I'm not your punching bag and if I ever see you again I will make sure no one ever finds the body. Fuck you and your million-dollar whims. Go find yourself some other toy."

- - - - - - - - - - -

Jess hasn't slept in his bed for days, and he's hardly gone to work either. Unintentionally he falls asleep on the couch halfway through her fourth day in his home, and she takes it as a sign.

She doesn't know what to do so she does things. She strips the bed of its sheets and does laundry. She washes the dishes in the sink, scraping off congealed egg bits. She stuffs the fucking fuscia dress in a black garbage bag, along with her handbag and shoes. She would burn it if she wasn't certain the sequins would be highly contaminating.

When he wakes, he finds her sipping tea and reading.

She's reading _The Subsect_ again, and she's halfway through. If she had a pen in her hand he would know she's all better, but she doesn't, so she isn't.

"I made sandwiches," she announces, a small culinary triumph. She points to the plate on the coffee table, which isn't so much a coffee table as it is a carton with a board. He nods gratefuly and takes a cautious bite.

He chews with disgust and swallows. "That's awful," he says.

And for the first time in days, she grins. "You still fell for it." Then, without warning, she gets up and brings another plate from the kitchen. "I found your Pop-tart stash. Good variety."

"No, thanks. I never eat the stuff," he replies, and he knows he's caught.

"Then why do you have them?" she asks, confused.

He sighes, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. "Just in case," he answers.

"In case of what?"

"You."

- - - - - - - - - - - -

Rory pretends to sleep, face down, her body splayed across the entire bed. The bruises are fading slowly. Is it time to go home?

She realized, staring at row upon row of boxes of Pop Tarts, that she doesn't know him anymore, that she doesn't understand him

They broke each other's hearts, over and over and over again.

Still, just in case...

"Are you sleeping?" he asks from the doorway.

She could lie, but she doesn't.

"No."

He approaches the bed and sits next to her, in the tiny space she's left. "What's next?" he asks.

"I should go."

"Stars Hollow?" he asks.

She shrugs. "I have so much stuff at his house."

"Do you need it?" he asks, brushing hair out of her face. She raises herself up on her elbows, just a little bit.

"He has my clothes, my music, some class notes, my computer."

"Does he have your books?" Jess asks, confused.

Rory shakes her head no. "I never moved them. They're all in Stars Hollow."

"Do you need the clothes, the cd's, the computer? I mean, really, irreplaceably need them?" Jess asks again.

She takes stock of his face, of what he's asking her. She tries to recall the dresses and coats, the money spent, the computer which houses school files. She realizes that, in a way, she's done with all of it. It's just money, after all, in different shapes and sizes. She'll get new clothes. She'll learn new songs. She'll buy a typewriter, or use longhand.

"No," she says, and it's liberating. As liberating as being two states away from your University two days before the graduation ceremony. "He'll be at the Graduation ceremony."

"So will I," he says, confidently. "Missed the first one, it would be a shame to miss this one too."

"You don't have tickets."

"It's outdoors, right? I'll just crash it."

At this she sits up completely. "You're gonna crash my graduation."

"Even if I have to wear a cap and gown."

She leans against the wall, because there is no headboard to his bed, and attempts a smile. "I wasn't going to invite you, you know? I thought about it, but not even Luke's gonna be able to get in, see, he doesn't have any tickets."

"Maybe we can both crash it," Jess suggests.

Rory closes her eyes. In that brief second, she thinks about the boxes of Pop Tarts, aligned, separated by color, by flavor. "I don't know who you are anymore."

He echoes her, because it's true. "I don't know who you are anymore, either." He sighs. "We should start over, because..."

"You're in love with a ghost," she answers.

"You resent a boy who died a long time ago," he counters.

"I loved him, too," she replies.

They share companionable silence for ten, fifteen minutes. Then, with all the strength he can muster, Jess extends his hand to her and waits for her to take it.

"Jess Mariano. I'm a fiction writer. I co-own a small publishing house in Philadelphia, and I'm working on my second novel."

"Rory Gilmore. I'm about to graduate Yale as a journalist. I have a job lined up covering the Obama campaign trail for DemocracyNow Web News Network. I start in two weeks."

Jess smiles. "Really? Politics?"

"Yup."

"You think he'll win?" Jess asks.

She shrugs. "I like rooting for the underdog."

"You start in two weeks."

Rory nods. "So, what's the second book about?"

Jess runs a hand through his head. "Regret," he answers, straight out.

"Need a co-author?" Rory quips.

"Need an editor," he gripes. "The Subsect took forever because I had no one to bounce ideas off."

"It has the most endearing typos," Rory adds.

"That too."

Rory gives Jess's hand a quick squeeze. "Get me a pink pen."

"A pink pen?"

"With a fuzzy cap and preferrably scented ink," she adds. Jess gives her the look that says he thinks she's lost it. For the first time in days, she grins. "You just got yourself an editor."

TBC...

**Author's note 2:** Should I go on? It's probably going to be one or two more chapters. And all you Logan-lovers, I warned you.


	2. It ain't just a river

**Disclaimer: **Passages read out loud belong to Julio Cortazar's _Final del juego._ I couldn't find an english translation, I hope you do.

**CHAPTER 2 – It ain't just a river...**

Jess stares hard at Rory. "Weren't you going home?"

Rory holds up her hand as her eyes look over a sentence one more time. She scribbles something on the margin. "When I'm done."

"Rory..."

Rory looks up from the manuscript. Shrugs. "I guess I could take it home."

"It would be less unnerving for me, yes. I'd rather not be here while you dissect it."

"It's just some notes," Rory says.

Jess sighs. "And I feel the incessant need to look over your shoulder every time you put pen to paper. You could just take it home, read it at leisure, give it to me after your graduation. How's that for a plan?"

Rory nods, putting down the pen. "Alright, it does make more sense. Plus it gives you a chance to get back to work."

"I'm on vacation," Jess says.

"No you're not," Rory counters.

"What are you, the human resources department? I'm on vacation," he complains.

"Whatever you say," Rory replies, putting the cap back on the pen. She'd forgotten how soothing it was to work and to argue with Jess.

Jess rolls his eyes. "I've never taken time off. Matt and Chris owed me. And they're glad to get me out of their hair for two weeks. Gives them time to plot their latest "Lets-get-this-past-Jess" plan of the month."

"Which is?"

"A coffee bar or bind-your-own-fan-fiction-into-a-novel scheme."

"Tough call," Rory says, grinning.

Jess smiles. "You look better," he said.

Rory stretches her legs on the bed. "I feel better."

"I'll drive you up to Stars Hollow tomorrow, if you want," Jess offers. He walks over to the door and switches off the light. In the shadows, he tries to make out Rory's shape as she settles into sleep.

She nods slowly. "I'd like that." She pauses for a second, watching his silhouette shift its weight from one foot to the other. "Luke will be happy to see you."

Jess snickers. "Happy is not the word he'd use."

"Goodnight, Jess."

"Night."

- - - - - - - - - - - - -

Rory wears Jess's only long-sleeved shirt for the ride to Connecticut. It's light blue with thin, white, vertical stripes. Rory knows the minute she puts it on that she's probably not the first girl to wear his shirt, this shirt. She can almost picture the bare legs of another woman, barely covered by the shirttail, and she sighs as she pulls on a pair of his old jeans.

She's amazed by the fact that she fits in his clothes. He's so thin... but then, he's spent the past three days commenting on how skinny she is.

She can't really tell. She doesn't look at herself in the mirror anymore.

She's afraid to find new bruises, a different ugly reminder of her stupidity staring back.

She showers as if by inertia, not daring to look down at her body. She skips over bruises new and old with soapy hands, expertly avoiding the painful spots.

Jess is dressed, packed and reading by the time she finally drags herself out of the room. "I'm ready," she says, softly, hoping he won't hear. She feels like she's intruding, interrupting. In a way, she is.

"Good. Let's go."

- - - - - - - - - - - -

The first hour in the car is quiet. Too quiet. The car is old and the radio is busted and Jess doesn't say a thing.

"Aren't you bored?" Rory finally asks.

Jess shrugs. "I've gotten used to the quiet of the car. I just... think while I drive."

"It's creepy. I can hear the wheels spinning, the door unhinging..."

"The car's fine, Rory."

"I heard a ping coming from the motor. It sounded like..."

"Ping?"

"Yeah."

Jess rolls down his window a little more and listens. "No ping."

"Not now, because we're talking."

"Read, Rory," Jess suggests.

"That won't cover up the pinging."

"It will if you read out loud."

She rummages through the pile of books at her feet. The car is like a moving library, overdue books, stolen books, secondhand books.

"Ooh, Julio Cortazar," she says. "I've never seen this collection before."

"Skip ahead to the last one," Jess volunteers, looking fleetingly at the book she holds.

"It's in Spanish," Rory points out.

"You read Spanish, right?" Jess asks, recalling her nightmares a few days back.

Rory nods. "Two years in school, two in college. My accent is horrible, though."

"Try anyway."

"_Final del juego._" Rory starts. "That's _The End of the Game_."

"Keep going. I've read the translation before, and I understand enough."

Rory smils with pursed lips, but plows on. "_Con Leticia y Holanda íbamos a jugar a las vías del Central Argentino los días de calor, esperando que mamá y tía Ruth empezaran su siesta para escaparnos por la puerta blanca. Mamá y tía Ruth estaban siempre cansadas después de lavar la loza..._"

- - - - - - - - - -

The second Jess's car passes the town's Welcome sign, the rumor mill starts its grind. The words go from mouth to ear to mouth again.

So that was where Rory had been.

They had always suspected something like this would happen.

Everyone had known.

Running away right before graduation.

Shame.

Shame.

Shame.

- - - - - - - - - -

The car pulls up in front of Lorelai's and there's no time to think.

As soon as Rory's shoes touch the grass, Lorelai is already hugging her, so hard Jess thinks Rory might snap in two.

And the tears which she's kept at bay for days start flowing unchecked.

Lorelai hugs and whispers and holds Rory for what seemed like hours.

Then, taking her hand, she leads them all inside.

No one else sees, and Jess isn't sure he does either, but the second before Lorelai passes through the doorway, she turns to him and mouths a silent thank you.

- - - - - - - - - - -

Luke and Jess sit side by side on the Gilmore couch, the most uncomfortable couch known to man.

Even with the TV on, they can hear Lorelai's sobs, Rory's whispered retelling of every fight. They know that Rory's taking off her clothes, showing every bruise she has hidden.

"Was it bad?" Luke asks, softly. He doesn't dare look at Jess directly.

"Damn prick drank a lot... poor baby has it so bad working with his father, he just had to take his frustrations out on her..." Jess mutters, his voice simmering the hate. "I should've done something, I mean, I knew something was wrong when she called, every time I was on the verge of asking what was wrong, but... Has he come looking for her?"

Luke nods. "Once. I shoved him back in the car. Told him to stay away unless he wanted to be buried here. Haven't heard from him since."

"He'll show, you know. At her graduation," Jess whispers.

"We'll be there," Luke volunteers. "She'll be fine."

Jess nods slowly. He tries to concentrate on the television, on the noise and rumble, so that he won't hear Rory say, over and over again, that she is sorry.

- - - - - - - - - - -

It's late at night by the time Lorelai steps out of Rory's room, her eyes puffy and her nose red. She lets herself fall ungracefully into the couch and allows her head fall on Luke's shoulder.

"She asleep?" Luke asks.

Lorelai nods. "She... her arms... did you see her arms?" she cries, looking over at Jess for confirmation that it has all been a nightmare.

Jess just assents with his head. Once is enough.

"I should've seen it coming, I should've known." Lorelai shakes her head in disbelief. "He asked me for her hand in marriage and I said yes, how could I have said yes? Why didn't my Mom-radar go off?"

Neither Luke nor Jess can find anything to say.

Lorelai takes Jess's hand in hers and squeezed it. "Thank you. For... taking her in."

"No problem," Jess says, dismissing it.

"You and her... you always find each other, don't you?" Lorelai whispers, tired.

"If it weren't for her, I'd be scamming quarters in subway stations. What I have is hers," Jess says, the longest sentence he'd ever said to Lorelai.

"Funny," Lorelai replies. "She said something similar once, about you. Except she substituted scamming quarters in subway stations with riding limousines in cocktail dresses."

- - - - - - - - - - -

Hours after Lorelai and Luke have gone to bed, leaving him the couch all to himself, he's still tossing and turning.

There's no reason for it, but he still can't sleep. He wanders into the kitchen and pours himself a glass of water.

And then he jumps out of his skin when he feels a hand on his shoulder.

"Jeez, Rory, you scared me," he whispers, putting the glass down on the table.

"Sorry. I couldn't sleep either." Rory's wearing her own clothes again, pajamas with cupcakes on them. "I'm hungry."

"Want me to make you something?"

"What I really want is Pop-Tarts," Rory says. "Blueberry." She checks the cupboards. Finally she finds a box. "Ah. Strawberry. They'll do. Want one?"

"I never eat -"

"The stuff. I know. Humor me."

Jess smiles. "Fine. One."

"Great. You know, they come two to a packet," Rory mentions.

"I've been making these for you the past three days."

"I'm just saying, it's nice to share them with someone."

Jess raises an eyebrow. In the dark, he can be as honest as he wants. "I don't remember you being that big on sharing."

Rory pops the tarts into the toaster. "Excuse me? I lent you all those books."

"I stole them from you."

"I let you steal them from me."

"You tell yourself that."

"I will."

Jess looks straight at Rory, trying to find a way of saying... everything. But there isn't a right word, a perfect sentence. "I'm looking for the right word and all I can find is its second cousin," he finally says, apologetically.

"Paraphrasing Mark Twain?" Rory asks, her fingers nervous.

"Seemed appropriate."

"I don't think there's anything you can say," she recognizes.

Jess nods. "I could say I'll never let anyone hurt you again, but I can't promise that, not really."

"It should be me making that promise. I can't believe I let him... " she trails off, looking around the kitchen for a place to set her eyes. She can't look at Jess. Not yet. "I waltz in and out of your life, you waltz in and out of mine, but we always end up across from one another, trying to fix each other."

"It's not so much a waltz as it is a minuet," Jess quips.

Rory can't help smiling. "You're a goof when you want to be."

Jess shrugs. "I think that sooner or later we'll find a balance, a way to stop hurting each other and coexist peacefully. Maybe this is it. Maybe it'll take a few more rounds."

Rory nods.

And the toaster pushes the Pop-Tarts up. "They're ready."

- - - - - - - - - -

By the dim light of her table lamp, Jess settles into a chair in Rory's room.

"I'll read the rest of the story if you promise never to make me eat that awful crap again," he barters.

Rory nodds, pulling the covers atop her body. "I promise. But I still don't get how you can hate Pop-Tarts."

"Floury crust and filling akin to congealed sugary cough syrup."

"You're insane..."

"Do you want me to read or not?"

"Read."

"My accent's as bad as yours."

"No such animal," Rory says, getting comfortable.

Jess nods, flipping through the book. "Ok. _Cuando íbamos a dormirnos esa noche, Holanda me dijo, 'Vas a ver que desde mañana se acaba el juego'. Pero se equivocaba aunque no por mucho..._"

- - - - - - -

Sunlight streams into the room, and reaches Rory's eyes with curious determination. He'd finished reading the short story to her the previous night, and they'd stayed up an additional hour talking about every aspect of the story that could be analyzed.

They'd finally drifted off to sleep between some argument and another, their words becoming shorter, more incoherent as the yawns interrupted them.

The short story was complex in its simplicity. It was about the end of innocence, about appearances, and about loss, through the eyes of children.

Jess had always been a master at picking stories that were a commentary on their lives. This was no exception.

These were times for endings, for new beginnings.

Before she knows what she's doing, she's already crawling out of bed and closer to the chair where he's sleeping. She settles herself on his lap and she can feel he was stirring under her weight, until his eyelids flutter open. He looks at her, questioning her movements, but her eyes allow no words. She curls up, her arms clinging to his neck, her face buried in his shoulders.

She is here, a neat package of discombobulation, waiting for a decision only he can make.

He has two choices: he can either let her cling and do nothing, or he can close his arms around her and welcome her to his own confusion and darkness.

He breathes in the scent of her hair, unwashed for two days. Sweat mixed with the smell of his car, with vestiges of shampoo.

Her scent is so familiar that he knows there is no such thing as a choice to be made. His arms wrap around her because there is no other way.

Because even if what he smells is the effect of a day on the road, a day of crying, a year of pain, what he really senses is that she is home.

She is his home.

Cupcake pajamas and all.

**TBC...**

**Sorry, I had to repost because the first post came out in the wrong verb-tense. Don't ask. **

**Next chapter, graduation! Tell me what you think?**


	3. Graduation

**CHAPTER 3**

**GRADUATION**

"_Graduate,_" Jess reads. "_Verb. Intransitive. Successfully complete an academic degree, course of training or high school._ Mighty fine dictionary you got here, young lady," he jokes. "You coming out of that bathroom anytime soon?"

"When I'm dressed," Rory answers.

The morning had gone by in an instant. As soon as they'd sensed movement outside, Rory had released her hold on Jess and had silently walked out of the room.

It wasn't exactly like they were pretending the connection between them hadn't happened. It was more a question of taking it in, allowing it to sink in, reveling in whatever meaning it could have.

That the meaning wasn't clear yet was evident, and there was a freedom in not knowing that was like nothing he'd ever experienced before.

He'd always prided himself in having control over the way his life would spin out of control. If there was chaos, he would be in the middle of it, commandeering it.

But with Rory, things just didn't work out that way. Rory was the eye of the hurricane, and he was just along for the ride.

It's exhilarating, this moment of calm before the storm.

"Ok, I'm coming out," Rory calls from the bathroom, throwing the door open. She's wearing a simple blue top with long sleeves and a pair of khaki pants. "So, waddayathink?"

"That you were abducted by a country club," Jess volunteers.

Rory frowns. "Nicest thing I could find with sleeves that doesn't look like I missed the off ramp for Siberia."

"Yeah, sorry about that," Jess mutters.

"You don't have anything to be sorry about," Rory says, almost in passing. "Me, I'm sorry I won't be able to wear the dress mom made for me."

"Can I see it?" Jess asks.

Rory pulls her hair back into a ponytail, checking for stray hairs in the mirror. "See what?"

"The dress."

Rory looks at him sideways. She pulls at her long sleeves, trying to make them even longer. "Why?"

Jess shrugs. "I just want to see what it would've been like. Your perfect graduation."

Rory's eyes waver. She walks over to the closet and pulls out a hanger with light blue fabric draped over it.

The dress is sky-blue, sleeveless, v-neck. It would've ended just below the knee.

"You'll look beautiful in it," Jess says, looking into Rory's eyes. She looks away.

"I'm not going to use it. I don't have anywhere to use it," Rory points out, sticking it back in the closet.

"What about the re-enactment?"

"The town reenactment of my graduation ceremony?" Rory asks. "How do you know about that?"

"Luke said something about it."

"The bruises will show," Rory whispers.

"I hear Lane has this newfangled thing people call makeup."

"Jess," she hisses, slamming the closet door closed. "Why are you pushing this?"

Jess approaches her with a certainty held only by gods and strangers. He's neither, he's both. He knows her as if he were omniscient, he knows nothing at all. He surrounds her wrist with his hand, trying to gauge her fragility. She looks up into his eyes and tries to read him, to annihilate the need for speech. But they aren't doing the mind-reading thing well today. "If you avoid the things that matter to you, because of what he did to you, he wins and you'll always be his prisoner."

"I don't want anyone in town to see, to know," Rory says, looking straight at Jess. There's no hesitance. In this she is adamant.

"They won't."

"He doesn't get to win," Rory adds.

Jess nods, pulling her into a hug. "He won't win."

- - - - - - - - - -

They drive to the ceremony in silence, and it seems like the Jeep has shrunk. Lorelai rides up front, Luke drives as slow as he possibly can.

Squished in the back-seat, Rory crosses and re-crosses her legs, once, twice. She wrings her hands nervously. She doesn't even know she's doing it until she feels Jess's hand on her knee.

There's a calming warmth that his hand manages to convey and she stops the hand-wringing. She doesn't look up at Jess, doesn't look in his eyes. But she does stare at his hand.

Jess doesn't move his hand, and he knows he's breaking the third rule of leaving.

Right now, he can't quite remember what it was.

But he knows with the certainty only skin-to-skin contact provides, that the rule is breaking.

Broken.

- - - - - - - - -

It's a castle of Ivy and white stone, and Jess doesn't quite know how to deal with it. He didn't remember this, from the time he came to see her, when he irrationally asked her to run away with him. Now that he sees it, he's glad that they'll be avoiding her old dormitory building.

He walks beside her, towards the cattle drive of graduates. He's holding her cap and she's adjusting her gown and the nerves have started again, hand-wringing and all. Luke and Lorelai have gone in the search of their seats, threatening to push whoever is sitting next to them in order to make room for Jess. He smirked and waved them away.

He doesn't intend to let Rory out of his sight, doesn't intend to be far from her.

Of course, these are intentions and there's a lady trying to usher him away from the door as Rory passes through. "Only graduates," she says. Rory looks at him, half apologetic, half scared. Jess doesn't hand her the cap, but instead mouths to her that he'll find her.

He'll just have to find a window to break into.

- - - - - - - - - - - -

It's some auditorium-like building behind the stage, somewhere they probably hold smaller ceremonies. Jess finds a couple of windows ajar. Peeks in. A bathroom.

He jimmies the window open and hoists himself up. The opening is small but he's skinny enough to wiggle through, and he does.

He straightens out his shirt, the blue one Rory wore on the drive down, his only good shirt, and sets off in search for Rory.

He follows the signs and banners that have been laid out for the graduates to follow, because as much as he'd like to, he doesn't have a sixth sense as to her whereabouts. It amazes him, still, that they have found each other so many times. Even with directions, he never thought he'd see her again after he first left Stars Hollow.

He finds her huddled next to Paris and some other girl who Jess can't recognize. He's evidently walked into some sort of girl's locker room because he is the only male in sight. Though maybe he's wrong. Caps and gowns are all the rage in here, and it's hard to tell what's under them. Sure enough, the girl wasn't a girl but a guy. But at least it's not Logan.

"You made it," Rory says, standing and smiling. "I was afraid I'd have to walk out there without this."

Jess hands her the cap. "I never joke about breaking and entering."

"I should know that already."

Paris smirks at their exchange and steps forward to shake Jess's hand. "Read your book. Not half bad," she says, gripping his hand forcefully. "Glad to see someone with brains stepping back into the picture."

"Whoa. Take it easy, Paris," Rory says, blushing just a little.

Jess shrugs it off. "I'll take all of it as a compliment."

"I'm feeling a little left out here," the tall boy with curly dark hair said, approaching the group.

"Sorry," Rory apologizes. "Marty, this is Jess. Jess, this is Marty."

"I think we could both use a little more information," Jess insists.

"Right," Rory smiles, mischievous. "Jess, Marty woke up naked in the hallway next to my door at the beginning of freshman year. Marty, Jess asked me to run away with him at the end of freshman year."

"I'd say that's enough information," Marty says, extending his hand.

Jess shakes it. "More than enough. Good to meet you."

"Same here. I'm with Paris. It's so nice to know the blonde dick is out of the picture," Marty adds.

"Trust me, no one's happier than I am," Jess says. His eyes go to Rory, who has resumed checking her cap in the mirror. She's looking into mirrors again.

She looks sad, but determined. "Except maybe me," Rory says, looking back at Jess through the mirror.

"I should go," Jess says. "Find someplace to watch you march across the stage."

"Right," Rory says, turning to face him. She bites down on her lower lip. "Wish me good luck?"

Jess approaches her and pulls her into a strong hug. "Good luck," he whispers. Rory clings to him for a minute, not wanting to let go.

Finally her hands slip off his shirt. "I'm wrinkling your shirt," she whispers, smoothing it out.

Paris shakes her head. "I'm not a big believer in this luck thing, Mariano. Give me your cell phone number so I can call you in case Logan shows."

"I don't have a cell phone," Jess announces.

"Damn caveman," Paris mutters.

Marty shrugs. "Take mine," he offers, handing Jess the phone. "I'd love to keep an eye on things, but my last name starts with a Z."

"Ok," Jess says. He smiles, glad to know that Rory has some sort of support system. "I'm gonna go find some open window."

- - - - - - - - - - - -

There is a field, green and summery, where the stage has been erected. No one questions Jess's being there, sitting in the grass right beside the stage, because it's that kind of school. It is the kind of place where everyone does what they are supposed to, so everyone just assumes Jess is supposed to be there, sitting on the ground, pulling at blades of grass.

"My man here has the right idea," Jess hears a voice with a thick Australian accent proclaim. There are two sets of footsteps approaching. "Close to the action, but out of the way, so you can run in case of fire or extreme boredom."

A regular american voice chimes in. "You think we should follow his example?"

"We should."

"We shall."

They sit cross-legged behind Jess. Jess just shakes his head. Damn weird rich kids.

"Remind me again why we're watching this instead of walking up there with all those people?" the australian asks.

The other kid shrugs. "Might have something to do with us just taking three credits this semester and failing that class."

"Oh, that."

Jess tries not to snort. At least these rich kids have a sense of humor.

"I hope we're not interrupting his quiet time," the australian says, pointing to Jess.

"I'm sure we're not."

"We'd better ask."

"Excuse me, kind sir, I was wondering if you don't mind our incessant chattering," the australian attempts.

Jess turns to face them. Both are skinny, both look stone-drunk, and both have elaborately-carved silver flasks in their hands.

"Not at all," Jess says.

"Care for a drink?" the american guy offers.

Jess shakes his head. "I'm not drinking today."

"Right," the australian comments. "Have to keep alert for that roster. Don't want to miss any speeches."

Both guys burst out laughing. Jess manages to crack a smile. "Something like that."

"Finn," the australian says, extending his hand.

"Jess," Jess answers, presenting himself. He's feeling quite unlike himself, meeting people, shaking hands.

A Gilmore-induced transformation.

"Colin," the other guy says. Jess shakes his hand as well.

"So who are you here for, Jess?" Finn asks, looking up to the stage. "An A, a D, an M or – gasp – a Y?"

Jess guesses he means letter of the alphabet. "A G. You?"

"An H and a G," Colin says. "They're our smarter, more applied friends. Good thing they have early-in-the-alphabet last names. That way we can leave soon."

"Poor Z's graduate to empty chairs," Finn points out.

"Huh," Jess says, turning his attention back to the grass.

"I think we bored him," Finn says.

Colin shrugs and takes another drink from his flask.

- - - - - - - - - - -

Colin and Finn keep busy making fun of people's first, middle and last names.

They are pros at this mocking thing.

Jess shakes his head and waits. The G group is nearing its middle and Paris has already walked across the stage.

And then it's Rory's turn. Jess jumps to his feet and stands in attention at the mention of her name.

"Lorelai Leigh Gilmore," the announcer says. "Graduates Cum Laude from Journalism."

"He stood up," Colin comments.

"She must be his G," Finn adds, standing.

"But she's our G," Colin complains, standing as well.

"I guess we'll have to share her," Finn sighs. "I'm fine with it, so long as I get her mother..."

Rory takes her diploma and holds it high for Lorelai to see. She scans the crowd and finds the spot on the grass where Jess stands. She waves at him. Jess, Colin and Finn all wave back. Rory shakes her head and laughs. Unbelievable. She continues her stride across the stage.

Jess looks behind him at Colin and Finn. "So she's your G."

"Well, not ours exactly," Finn says, gathering that Jess could be menacing if he wanted to. "We sort of adopted her."

"She dates a friend," Colin clarifies.

"So your H would be Huntzburger," Jess states.

"That he would. Do you know him?" Colin asks.

"Met him," Jess growls.

"Right, well, no love lost, I see. Oh, there you go, H's have started," Finn says, sitting back down. Colin and Jess follow suit. It's hard to see where Rory has gone to, and Jess wants to get a look at Logan before going.

But when they call Logan Hunztburger, no one walks up to the stage.

"Huh," Colin says.

"Was it your turn to give him the wake up call or mine?" Finn asks.

"I thought the redhead promised to wake him," Colin argues.

"Yes, but who was supposed to wake the redhead?" Finn points out.

"Ah, yes. Good question," Colin agrees.

Jess snickers and stands up to leave. He feels... relieved. "Have a nice one," he says, walking away.

"Don't walk away angry, man," Finn calls out.

"At least give us your number," Colin adds.

Then they both burst out laughing.

Jess is already out of earshot when Finn looks to Colin and asks, "D'you think we should follow him?"

Colin shrugs. "Do you have anything more interesting to do?"

The answer is evidently _no_, so they skulk off in the direction Jess has taken.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

The action is, of course, behind the scenes.

Jess hears it before he actually sees the fight, and he can't run fast enough.

Logan is not being loud enough to be heard above the graduation announcements, but his whispered screaming is even worse. When he gets to his destination, Jess is proud to find that Rory is yelling right back at him.

Logan has grabbed Rory's arm, but Rory isn't standing still. She's trying to kick Logan, whose gown is hanging askew from his frame.

"Fucking let go of me, Logan, or I swear to God..." Rory is saying.

"You're gonna do what, huh, Ace? Gonna run along and tell your mom? Sic that hick town on me?" Logan whispers, gripping her arm harder.

Rory has no choice.

She kicks him in the balls. Hard.

Logan lets go of her arm and sinks to his knees. "I don't want to see you. Ever. Again," Rory says, heading over to Jess. Paris picks up Rory's cap, which had fallen to the ground, and walks over to Jess.

"What, you have some homing device or something? You got here before I could call," Paris says.

Jess shrugs. "She handled herself pretty well, I would say," he replies.

Rory isn't smiling, but there's triumph in her eyes as she approaches.

Logan is all red in the face and he looks to where Rory is walking, to where Paris and Jess are standing. Suddenly, they are also flanked by Finn and Colin.

Rory groans to herself. Great. The cavalry.

"This is about him, isn't it? It's about Jack," Logan says, standing unsteadily.

"Isn't his name Jess?" Finn asks. Colin shrugs.

"It's not about Jess," Rory says, giving Logan a death glare. Jess keeps his hands to himself, even though he feels the sudden urge to hug her, to smooth her hair. "It's about the fucking bruises on my arms and legs."

Finn looks from Rory, to Logan, then back at Rory.

"Bruises?" Colin asks, confused.

Rory doesn't even try to answer. She keeps her eyes trained on Logan. "Keep all the stuff I had at your place. It's just stuff. It doesn't mean anything to me. And now you don't, either."

With that, she snakes her arm around Jess's waist and walks away with him.

Paris, however, decides that it doesn't have to be so peaceful. With Finn and Colin watching, she walks over to Logan and lands one more swift kick in the balls. Logan groans. "That, boys," Paris tells Colin and Finn, "is what real friends do."

Smiling, she walks away, passing between Colin and Finn with great ease.

"Knew the redhead would keep her end of the deal," Colin muses.

Finn shakes his head. "That was low, Huntz. Even for us," he says. "That was a great girl you fucked up."

"She's just a girl," Logan spits out.

Finn looks right through Logan, then bumps Colin's shoulder. "Let's go."

Finn and Colin walk away, leaving Logan behind in a sea of blue graduation caps and gowns.

- - - - - - - - - - - -

"Your arm ok?" Jess asks, bumping Rory's hip with his. He enjoys this closeness, more than he enjoyed watching Rory grow her backbone.

Rory nods. "Nothing Lane's newfangled thing won't hide."

Paris catches up with them, a bit winded. "You ok?"

"Yup," Rory answers. "What took you so long?"

Paris shrugged. "Just doing something friendly."

"I'm afraid to think what that might be," Rory says.

"Then don't think about it," Jess says, his eyes meeting Paris's conspiratorially. "Let's go find your mom."

"Yeah, let's," Rory says, pressing herself closer to Jess as they walked.

TBC...

Ok, so this has one, maybe two more chapters left in it, but I think we just got over a big hump. I hope you enjoyed the inclusions of Marty, Paris, Finn and Colin. I hope I did justice by these characters, who may not be the center of the show but who added all the necessary color... Please let me know what you think about the character's reactions, and the writing. Any and all comments are of great help.


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